The wind whispers for our freedom.
The thunder crackles against our chains.
The lightning trembles with our fury.
We will rise under the wrath of the blizzard.
We will attack with the roar of the tempest.
They will hear our echoes of thunder.
----------------------------------------
The drumming of the rain across the earthen roofs should sound like thousands of pounding drums with the girl’s heighten senses. But the rain has always been a comfort rather than a grief. She prowls across the patchwork of clay tiles, lithely leaping from rooftop to rooftop.
She feels at home here in the storm. Despite the weather and the cold from snowy mountains around the city walls, she wears only a worn tunic, rough pants and soft, weathered boots. Just the way she likes it.
She’d come out to enjoy the storm. The wild, relentless roar of nature was a cocoon of comfort for her. She was not daft, she knew it wasn’t normal to seek shelter with a storm.
There is something different tonight with the storm above. There is something in the air, and it’s making her antsy. The storm is trying to tell her something. So the girl closing her eyes, ear raised towards the clouds, and listens.
The storm call is strong. So the girl follows the harsh wind as it guides her toward the center of the city. Towards the glimmering Conquered Palace.
There’s a ruckus near the Conquered Palace, as always. The girl sighs to herself, bracing herself as her sensitive ears readjust to the noise.
Blizzardhaven has only been a ruckus since the Purplecloaks invaded. Their typhoon wizards brought blizzards from all over the mountain range. Despite the name, the onslaught of super-powered weather mixed with the waves of barbarian forces had been too much for the city. Blizzardhaven has never had much military defense, much less magic defense.
They had fallen so quickly. And now the people have been suffering for two years under terrible rule.
It’s no longer the safe haven it was. The girl stills and crouches low as she reaches the edge of a rooftop. Her fists curl as she watches the Purps drag crying citizens away from the premises.
One day, she’ll find a way to free Blizzardhaven.
The girl presses her cheek to the tile below. What a ridiculous dream.
Who would ever believe that a girl with no name who loves storms would ever save Blizzardhaven? What could a nameless orphan do for the once great city-state of Blizzardhaven?
What is she even doing here? So close to the Conquered Palace? If she’s caught by the Purps, they’ll smite her down with the storm above.
Or would they? This storm seems quite fond of her. It urges her forward.
She slides off the rooftop, landing silently within the narrow, cobbled lanes. The crowd grows louder as she nears, and she is filled with smoldering fury.
She recognizes the baker, who would give her bread every morning, among the lines of tied up citizen and crying out as her two daughters are taken from her. The Purps are “recruiting”. The twins are only ten years old, same as the girl.
The entire street is abuzz with shouting and crying. The Purps trudge around, occasionally silencing protest with their hulking figures or bloodied swords. Blizzardhaven has been subject to “recruitments” every month. Children are separated from their parents. People are forced out of their homes. The girl had tried to find where they went, but once they’re taken by the Purplecloaks, they are never seen again.
One of the giant Purps grabs both the struggling twin by the collar. Lifting them high into the air with a single massive hand. The young girls are crying and screaming.
The girl readies herself to run after them.
But a fierce torrent lashes the wall beside her. No. Not there.
Her people are in trouble! The storm must be mistaken! She can help!
It wouldn’t take much to pull the ropes apart—
Her ears pick up another sound.
She hears the chanting as the dark clouds above begin to twist. A typhoon wizard. She hears the shouting of the Purps. They’re running after someone.
The storm above begins to roar. Help her.
Everything muscle in the girl’s body has to stop herself from running towards the giant, but the storm has never been more insistent. The rain around her turns harsh and sharp as it tries to pull her away from street of her suffering people.
The girl takes one last look at the horrible sight, and tears away from them with an angry snarl. She won’t do nothing.
Instead, the girl leaps up high into the sky. The ground beneath her feet crumbles at the force and shouts ring below her as people catch sight of her silhouette against the crackling lighting.
She hears people yelling and hopes that the distraction is enough to help.
She refocuses and becomes one with the storm. Anything the storm touches, she can find.
She can hear the typhoon wizard’s murmurs.
She can hear the purple cloak’s unsheathe their metallic swords.
She can hear the soft sobs of another girl.
There. That’s who she needs to help.
The Girl Of The Storm cuts her own trajectory in the air, nosediving down into the city below.
The ground nears quickly, but her hawk-like vision catches scene. Purps with glinting swords surround a girl with snowy white hair and an flowing alabaster dress. The typhoon wizard stands behind the soldiers, staff raised towards the sky.
But the storm doesn’t seem to be cooperating. Instead, lightning crackles around the Girl Of The Storm. The wind picks up, guiding her towards her destination. The tempest above her roars.
The girl with white hair looks up. Her icy blue eyes widen at the sight of the girl diving down towards her.
She reaches her hand up, and blue electricity crackles around her. A shield.
The Girl Of The Storm strikes with the force of a collapsing star. The ground splintered beneath her, cracks racing outward and toward the enemies. A violent gust of wind howled as the shockwave of debris and torrents of lightning sweep across the Purplecloaks in a relentless force of nature.
The Girl Of The Storm whirls on her heel to face the girl the storm had entrusted to her.
The lightning barrier around her had dissipated. The girl with hair like snow stared at her with wide, scared eyes.
Wait. Now she has to actually talk to her. Start a conversation? No way.
The storm above crackles in humor. A gust of warm encouragement is sent her way.
The Girl Of The Storm sighs. The girl with white hair smiles softly.
Before she can saying anything however, her head snaps to the side. Her ears catch the heavy clank of metal boots beneath the drumming of the rain. The blast has left them too exposed. Backup is on the way.
She grabs her new charge and pulls her into another crooked alleyway. The girl in white gasps at the force of her pull but quiets at her frantic look. The boots grow louder even as they disappear further and further into the cramped city.
She doesn’t stop until they’re far, far away from the Conquered Palace.
When she finally slows, they’re in a dim, overhung alley. The girl in white gasps as she catches her breathe. The Girl Of The Storm winces. She’d forgotten to keep a normal pace.
The girl in white is shivering. Strangely, she doesn’t seem scared. In fact, she seems—defiant. Determined.
She gathers herself quickly, though she can’t halt her body’s reaction to the cold. The Girl Of The Storm wish she had something to help, but it’s not like she wears doublet. She doesn’t need one.
The girl in white straightens her shoulders and puts her feet together. Standing prim and proper.
“Greetings. I thank you most deeply for your assistance. I am called Alia; who might you be, noble lady?”
“You’re welcome. I’m not noble nor a lady,” the Girl Of The Storm responds. She’s not sure why the storm asked her to save someone like this. Hadn’t all of Blizzardhaven’s nobles fled or died during the usurpation?
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
She looked up to the clouds above for an answer. Nothing. They swirl above in their usual turmoil.
“And your name?” the girl in white—Alia presses.
“I don—” CLANG.
The nameless girl whips her head around. Alia watches her confused.
“What are you—” the girl clamps a hand around her mouth and raises a finger.
Alia cannot hear the footsteps from so far away, but she can.
How did they find us?
It could just be a patrol. But her instincts tell her something is wrong. She looks back up to the storm. A single glint in the clouds catches in her augmented vision.
A storm tracker. That typhoon nitwit managed to cast his spell in time. She’ll have to break it herself.
She looks back down at Alia, “Stay here. Stay quiet. Stay still.”
Then she backs up and leaps high up into the air. Into the clouds. Right towards the swirling, iridescent blue sphere she found.
All it takes is the momentum of her leap and heaving kick to smash it into pieces.
She nosedives back toward the ground. But this time, she heaves up just before she collides with the ground. The air around her lifts and slows her file as she glides down.
Alia looks up at her with wide eyes, “You have wings, too?!”
“What are you talking about?” Maybe she’s in shock. Purplecloaks can be frightening.
Never-mind that, her presence in the air will have been alerted. Thankfully, she knows just the place.
The clocktower.
----------------------------------------
Alia was so tired. She’d been running and hiding for so long.
But she promised.
She would survive. She would escape. She would free Blizzardhaven.
It’s her purpose. By blood. By honor.
For her mother.
Alia tries and fails her to hold back tears at the thought. But she needs to be strong. She promised.
She’s so tired. Her legs ache from the days of endless running. Her stomach grumbles from the lack of food. Her face and arms pinch from scratch and bruises. Her fingers and toes are numb from the biting cold. Her shoulders sag under the weight of her country.
She leans against the soft clay of the building next to her and huffs in frustration.
She’s accidentally found herself close to the palace again. She has no idea how to navigate the back alleys and she keeps getting lost. Worse, she’s closer to Purplecloak patrols.
Still, the main streets are warm with the masses of the crowds, and she’s a lot more likely to find someone who will give her food. It’s a risk she has to take.
Her white dress does nothing but draw attention, but she can’t bear to part with it.
She passes a bakery, one that she remembers would give out old bread. When she gets to the door, her heart sinks. A jagged symbol of an arch with two smoking eyes within is scorched into the wood of the door.
They’ve been “recruited”.
Alia balls her hands into fists. She can do nothing but watch her people be mistreated. She is useless.
She’s just an eleven-year-old girl. What can she do?
Alia shakes her. No. She’s eleven now, but if she survives till she’s older: she can fight back. She has to keep moving. Keep—
“There she is!”
A Purplecloak patrol races towards her. The massive men push bystanders out a way as they carve a path towards her.
Alia breaks into a sprint.
She tries to dodge and weave through crowds. Then through alleyways. But they stay just behind her.
She’s a fast runner, but her legs are weak and the grown men can cover much more ground.
Still, Alia refuses to give up. She sees an alcove of carts set up for market ahead. She copies what she’d once seen an urchin do while stealing fruit. She turns the corner and ducks under the furthest cart she can find, praying that the merchants will cause too much fuss for her pursuers.
Thankfully, as the soldiers trudge into clearing, the merchants immediately begin hollering. The Purplecloaks are always bad for business.
Alia takes the opportunity to dive into a nearby alleyway. She runs until she can’t run anymore. Then, slides down a wall as she gasps for breathe.
Thank goodness—.
CLANK. CLANK.
She whips around to see a hulking Purplecloak racing towards her. She yelps as she forces her body back into a run, trying her best to lose him in an alleyway.
All of a sudden, more appear from all directions.
Alia panics as she tries to reroute, until she hits a dead end.
She turns in fear as the Purplecloaks close around her. The massive shadows of the barbarians loom over her. They’ve got a typhoon wizard with them.
Alia had been able to ignore the rain in favor of survival, but now she can’t help but feel the clouds above turn dark and malicious.
“Well looky here, boys,” the huge man who had found her smirks.
Alia backs further away. She’s panicking and she can’t see a way out. But wait.
She hides a hand behind her back and tries to call her magic.
“We’ve found the little snow princess herself,” he bellows.
She feels a hint of static, just for a moment. If she can catch them by surprise, then just maybe—
Suddenly, Alia feels a force of magic. It’s feels familiar. Natural. It’s definitely not coming from the typhoon wizard before her. But up?
She looks up, and she sees someone diving towards her from the sky. Lightning encircles them and the twisting storm swirls above them like the beginning of a hurricane.
She sees golden eyes with slitted pupils descending towards her.
This must be how it feels: the moment right before you are struck by lightning.
----------------------------------------
“Hey, stay awake,” the Girl Of The Storm says as they finally reach their destination.
Alia was exhausted. She didn’t look like she had been eating. The girl was worried she was freezing to death.
Halfway through their journey, Alia had finally given in to her insistence. So now she clings to the girl’s shoulders as the girl of the storm carries her to the clocktower.
The clocktower is strangely inconspicuous despite it’s purpose. It was high enough to see the palace, even though it rested against the city wall. But the clock was broken and the building too torn down to gather attention.
The rest of the street was in similar disrepair, but nobody unsavory wanted to take up a room on the city’s edge.
That amounted to nothing less than death by frostbite.
It was perfect for the Girl Of The Storm. She never got cold.
Unfortunately, the girl over her shoulder was freezing.
“You are remarkably warm,” Alia says, even as her teeth chatter.
The girl ignores her in favor of climbing the high but narrow steps. When she reached the top, she carefully placed Alia down, supporting her before she falls.
When she pushes the door open, a warm gust of air brushes past them. She ushers Alia in and shuts the insulated door.
The room inside is simple and welcoming. Rough-hewn stone walls and low, timbered beams frame a modest space warmed by the soft glow of a crackling hearth. A simple wooden table and a well-worn chair, adorned with a patchwork quilt, complete the room. The rain is muffled inside, and it is only through the semi-translucent clock face which covers the entirety of one wall that the flashes of lightning are revealed.
The girl leads Alia to a small bedroll in the corner of the room. She grabs the quilt from the chair and layers it over the thin blanket. Then she busies herself with start the fire. She’s never been good at conversation.
Besides, the girl in white looks about to drop.
Still, the girl of the storm counts to three and turns to face Alia. She sighs in relief. She’s asleep.
Wait a minute. Isn’t it bad to sleep in wet clothes?
----------------------------------------
When Alia wakes up, she first thing she feels is warmth.
Warmth? She jerks awake. The only reason she would be warm is if she was captured—
“Wait! Calm down! You’re safe!” Alia stops fussing at the voice. That did not sound like the low, grating tone of a Purplecloak.
She opens her to see a another girl around her age. She has wavy black hair and earth-toned skin. And her eyes. Alia immediately recognizes her. The flurry of events from before come back to her.
The girl’s eyes are glowing golden and her pupils aren’t slitted anymore. But they are still a bright burning amber.
The girl watches her earnestly as she calms down. She sidles closer with a bowl of the most wondrous soup. Alia hadn’t eaten properly in months. Sitting near the fire and covered in blankets, all she can do is reach for the offered meal. The soup is nothing compared to the meals the castle chefs would prepare for her, but she’s so hungry that this soup tastes far better than anything else she remembers eating.
The girl—dragon—just watches her. Head tilted like a puppy.
Alia doesn’t look up till she finishes her bowl. She blushes when she realizes she’s being watched. She’s not at all eating like a proper lady should.
Nevertheless when her bowl is finished, the dragon girl simply takes it from her and then comes back with a rag and another full bowl.
Alia itches to grab the second bowl but she remembers her manners. She wipes her mouth and sits up straight. The girl tilts her head again, this time with an eyebrow raised expectantly.
“You do not speak much, do you?” Alia cannot believe those are the words that come out of her mouth. This girl just saved her life for goodness sake!
“No. I don’t,” the girl says.
“Well, that’s quite alright. I must thank you sincerely for rescuing me…” she trails off as the broad shouldered girl waves her away.
“All good. Did what anyone else would do.”
Alia’s face must betray her doubt because the girl quickly amends, “Well not what anyone would do. But—what I would do.”
Alia smiles, “May I know your name, dragon?”
“I don’t have a name—wait, what? Dragon? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have a name?”
They both quiet as they interrupt one another.
Alia speaks first, “You are a dragon, right?” She was sure of it. If the eyes weren’t a dead give away, the wings she saw as the girl floated down from the storm confirmed it.
“Do I look like a giant lizard to you?”
“Most dragons stay in human form,” she’d met many before the invasion. Many dragons were nobility or associated with nobility and would visit from far and wide in the castle.
The girl still stares at her like she’s crazy, “You have inhuman strength! You’re eyes were glowing! You had wings!” Now that she thinks about it, they weren’t wings. Rather, lightning in the shape of wings.
That was still pretty dragon-like in her opinion.
The girl just sits there, thinking for a moment.
“…do they talk to storms?”
“…do you talk to storms?”
“Maybe?”
“Well unless you’re a storm dragon, but they don’t—”
Both children whip their eyes up towards each other. Storm dragons disappeared decades ago. But they’re the only ones who could naturally influence the weather.
The girl clears her throat, “Well maybe I am. But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why were those Purps going after you?” Purps is a delightfully ridiculous name for those stupid, blasphemous excuses for soldiers. Alia hadn't heard that before, but she's stealing that now.
Still, what if this girl turns her in—BOOM.
Lightning flashes just outside the clocktower and the thunder send shuddering vibrations through the building. Alia yelps and jumps as her own magic kickstarts.
Blue light begins crackling around her fingertips. Her eyes flash electric blue.
Warm hands steady around her wrists. She looks into the girl's earnest, amber eyes.
“You are important to Blizzardhaven, right?”
“H-how did you know?”
“The storm told me.”
“That was the storm?!”
She shushes Alia, “Listen to me. I will help you. I will help Blizzardhaven.”
Alia stares into the burning, determined eyes. She sighs and prays that she won’t regret this. She can just hear her mother's warnings about strangers in her head.
“I am Crown Princess Alia Snowreign of Blizzardhaven. Heir to the Frost-Kissed Throne.”
“Hmm. Makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
The dragon shrugs and stands, taking Alia’s now empty bowl with her. She sets it on the table and walks over the to clock wall. She beckon Alia with a tilt of her head.
Alia rises, pulling the warm quilt tight around her shoulders. She stand beside the much taller girl and looks out the tower. She almost gasps in awe.
The storm has turned into a calm snow. From their view, you can see the colorful array of Blizzardhaven’s districts and the glimmering purple palace all enveloped by the snow-covered peaks surrounding the city-state. It’s a beautiful and serene sight.
Alia can feel the tears fill her eyes. She tries to hastily wipe them before the other girl can see. She cannot cry now. Not yet.
Not until her people are free. Not until her people have no need to cry.
When she turns to the Girl Of The Storm, she sees flurries of snow around her arms. The dragon had turned the thunderstorm into snowfall.
“I want to help Blizzardhaven. You want to help Blizzardhaven. So, I will help you,” the dragon reaches out her hand.
Despite every one of her mother’s teachings ringing in her head, Alia knows that she can trust the girl in front of her. She takes the hand. Around their arms, electricity crackles. Yellow sparks from the dragon. Blue sparks from Alia.
“Well if we’re going to do this, I’ll need something to call you.”
The Girl Of The Storm shrugs, “Don’t have a name.”
Alia thinks back to when she first saw the girl. Diving towards her in a torrent of lightning.
Torrent—no.
“Torren.”